


little red riding hoodie

by annejumps



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Barebacking, Bossy Eddie Kaspbrak, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Knotting, M/M, Monsterfucking, Outdoor Sex, Possessive Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier Has a Big Dick, Rimming, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Size Queen Eddie Kaspbrak, Spit As Lube, Top Richie Tozier, Werewolf Richie Tozier, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26094418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: There’s something glinting on the ground on the other side of the clearing; Eddie hurries over to it. The moonlight is reflecting bright white on Richie’s glasses. Eddie picks them up. “Richie!” he calls out, panic starting to overtake him, and then he hears a rustling. Something large is coming out from the undergrowth, a dark shape Eddie can’t quite make out.It’s growling.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 250





	little red riding hoodie

Eddie figures going on a solo hiking trip in the wilds of Maine is as good a way of dealing with a midlife crisis as any other.

He grew up in a podunk town here, one of the old-school ones rife with racism, homophobia, the works. Time in New York has made backwoods Maine seem borderline exotic after all these years, but damn if the camping and hiking isn’t the best in the country. Besides, it seems fitting that he’d try to “find himself” here, if there is any more of himself to be found. Maybe he left something important here.

It’s hard to remember noble ambitions like that when he’s sitting under a tree just off the path, with his rain jacket on, waiting for a late afternoon summer thunderstorm to pass. He’s on a slight rise with a steep hillside to his right, and looking out over the distant blue mountains, sensing the profound quiet and the lack of any other nearby humans, it’s difficult to do anything besides enjoy the moment—something he hasn’t let himself do in a long time. It’s not silent by any means, but knowing he’s the only human around is certainly bracing.

Yes, this is definitely not New York City.

Which is why he’s suddenly and sharply annoyed when he hears someone whistling a tune Eddie knows but can’t quite place, off somewhere but not too far, from the sound of it. Coming this way, most likely.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. After a day out here yesterday and a night alone, he’d just started to really get into the concept of not seeing another person, of not feeling like he had to perform, present an image of himself as a successful, straight, married man. He’s none of those things, and his path to deluding himself that he was, that he could be, started not far from here.

The rain is slowing to a stop, and as is typical for summer, the clouds are already starting to clear, sun beaming through the branches of the trees to evaporate the steam that’s already starting to rise from the pine needle–covered forest floor as drops drip from the canopy. Despite the damp, he takes off his rain jacket—it’s getting stuffy—and gets to his feet, stretching as much as he can with his pack still on, and hoping he doesn’t have to see whoever it is coming up the hiking trail, who’ll probably be passing him shortly. He keeps still, realizing belatedly that the red hoodie he still has on will mark him out pretty clearly. He doesn’t take it off, though—the sun sets quickly in Maine, even in summer, and it’ll start to get chilly, plus he wants to protect his skin. Eddie won’t want to take his pack off and take out his hoodie again if he doesn’t have to. He stuffs the foldable rain jacket in one of its pockets. 

The whistling is getting closer, and Eddie rolls his eyes. Its jubilant sound is at odds with the more somber mood he’d established, and he’s tempted to step out and give the person a piece of his mind and risk the attention and interaction when the whistling stops, the bootsteps stop, and whoever it is starts… _sniffing_. Big, deep sniffs. Eddie has no idea what the person could be smelling—there’s no fire or anything that he can tell. 

Just… him.

Eddie edges behind one of the larger pine trees around him, hoping it’ll somehow hide him from view, although with his pack on, that’s not likely.

The sniffing gets louder, more snuffling, more urgent, and then the bootsteps are coming toward him, off the path.

Eddie peeks around the tree trunk, regretting it immediately and gasping when he locks eyes with a man, a tall man with glasses and an intensely focused expression, standing in the slight clearing just off the path. Stupidly, he darts back behind the trunk, trying to somehow will himself smaller. That’s not happening, of course.

“Hey!” the man says, and Eddie’s heartbeat ratchets up in terror. Fuck, he shouldn’t have come out here alone—he knew goddamn well how many people go missing and get murdered out in the woods, state and national parks and shit. Fuck, he’s never going to be seen again, no one will even know what happened to him, there’s no way he can fight a man that tall and that broad—

“Eddie Kaspbrak!” the man exclaims.

Eddie stares at the bark of the tree inches from his face for what feels like many seconds before peeking back at the man, who’s grinning toothily at him, almost hopeful. He has never seen this man before in his life… but there’s something familiar about him. Something _very_ familiar, something that Eddie knows better than he knows himself—

“Richie?” he tries, faltering. “Richie Tozier?”

Surely not—his childhood best friend, the last time Eddie saw him before his mother took them to New York State, was a scrawny, gawky, gangly dweeb, and this guy is… not. Eddie had… been fond of him, despite his tendency to constantly make jokes about having sex with Eddie’s mother (a highly unlikely prospect for either of them, although he guessed that was what Richie found funny). 

He’d actually had occasion recently to realize that maybe his fondness for Richie was more than what a boy typically felt for his fellow boy best friend. Truth be told, Eddie had missed Richie a hell of a lot, and been hurt when Richie hadn’t ever written like he promised, and maybe more than he would have been if he hadn’t been so… fond of him. 

He’d tried his best to forget Richie and his other friends in Maine—his mother encouraged him to forget them, telling him they were dirty degenerates and he was better off without them—but something in him kept wanting to turn to Richie, for quite a long time after they’d left, and maybe even ever since. 

The man’s face lights up, and Eddie can definitely see it now. “Eds!” he says, boisterous as he ever was, and strides over. 

“That’s not my—” Eddie starts to say.

His legs are long, his shoulders are broad. Richie had always been taller than he was, but this is ridiculous. Eddie feels his breathing get shallower, and he has to remind himself to take a nice deep inhalation. Richie’s standing in front of him, looking delighted, hands grasping the straps of his pack like he’s a kid again, but that broad chest and stubbled jaw are definitely not those of a kid, not to mention his big hands. Eddie feels a little lightheaded, but something occurs to him. Richie wouldn’t have expected to see him in Maine at all, and he’d barely even seen him when he’d looked around the tree trunk…. He’d stopped walking well before he’d seen him at all, right? 

“How did you know I was— Why were you sniffing the air?” Eddie asks, and watches in amazement as Richie turns red. 

“Sensitive nose?” he offers. Eddie narrows his eyes; he’d chosen the unscented version of OFF! Deep Woods and couldn’t imagine he smelled like much else since he usually used unscented things, not from that far away, and not to anything that wasn’t a large predator. 

Richie might be large, but he’s not a predator. He’s wearing a baseball cap, hiking boots, and hiking shorts, as well as a white t-shirt; it’s not nearly enough skin cover from ticks and sun exposure, and Eddie’s vaguely preparing to lecture him on it—being from Maine, the home of L.L. fucking Bean, he should know better. Judging from the size of his pack, maybe he’s out on a day trip—but he’s a little busy noticing the hair on Richie’s arms—Jesus, he’s even hairy on his upper arms—and the bit that’s peeking out from the collar of his shirt. 

Richie apparently has noticed that Eddie’s kind of looking him over and not talking, and Eddie nearly starts to panic before Richie asks, still smiling, “What brings you back here?”

“Midlife crisis solo hiking trip,” Eddie blurts out, and Richie blinks. “Uh,” he adds hastily, “I just got divorced, and… you know.” He gestures vaguely. 

Richie raises his brows in a strangely unreadable expression—usually Eddie can read him like a book, or at least he could. “You were married?”

“Yes, dickwad,” Eddie snaps. “It’s normal for people who are forty to be married or to have been married.” He notices then that the left hand holding Richie’s pack strap is ringless. “Why are you trudging around out here like a bull in a china shop whistling and getting sunburn and mosquito bites and ticks?”

Richie’s grin returns. “You offering to check me for ticks?” he says, and winks, and—Eddie remembers Richie pinching his cheeks and cooing “Cute, cute, cute!”

Eddie feels himself flush. “You wish,” he mutters.

“I’m just out here for the night,” Richie says. “Wanted to get away. Visiting my parents. I’m in Chicago now. I guess you don’t follow stand-up comedy?”

The presumption annoys him, like Eddie’s just so predictable. “I could follow stand-up comedy,” Eddie argues. 

“But do you?” Richie’s obviously trying not to laugh at him.

“No,” Eddie admits. “I take it that’s what you do?”

“Have done for over a decade,” Richie tells him. “Got a Netflix special in the works.”

“Jesus, Rich. That’s impressive,” Eddie says, and Richie beams. “I work in insurance. At least… I did? I’m on a sabbatical. I might not have that job when I get back.”

“Midlife crisis,” Richie says, nodding. “She cheat on you? You cheat on her? Irreconcilable differences?”

“Turns out I’m gay,” Eddie says, and Richie coughs. 

“Gnat flew in my throat,” he explains. “Uh, me too.”

“You too what?”

“Me too I’m gay.”

“Like fuck you are.”

“Are you arguing with me over whether I’m gay?”

“Just.. shut up,” Eddie says, and turns toward the path. “If you’re going this way, come on, I want to set up camp before nightfall and I have a specific spot I want to reach.”

“Oh I bet you do,” Richie says, following. “Can I help you pitch a tent, handsome?”

Eddie huffs, starting to walk faster. “Look, just because we’re both apparently gay doesn’t mean you have a license to make shitty jokes about it.”

“I have a permanent license to make shitty jokes,” Richie says, easily catching up and outstriding him. Now Eddie has to hustle to keep up. “The categories have just broadened. And I have my own spot I’m trying to reach, thank you very much.”

Eddie sighs. “You can share my site, asshole.”

“I really can’t,” Richie says, brisk. “Anyway, Eddie Spaghetti, I’m surprised you didn’t go into medicine.” Eddie had been known, as a kid, for frequenting the drugstore in his many trips there to pick up prescriptions for himself and his mother, someone Eddie recognized now was mentally ill in her constant efforts to convince Eddie he was weak, vulnerable, and sick; he always had bandages and medications with him, and often tended to their friends’ cuts and scrapes. 

“I thought about it,” Eddie sighs. “Maybe I should have.”

“It’s never too late,” Richie says, bumping his elbow against Eddie’s upper arm. 

Eddie, trying to ignore how much taller Richie is than he is, snorts. “I think forty is a little too late for med school. Besides, that’s tens if not hundreds of thousands in loans.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“Yeah, thanks. You come out here often?”

“That sounds like a line, Eds.”

“It does not,” Eddie argues, flushing anew.

“Does so. ‘Come here often?’” Richie repeats breathily.

“Fuck you.”

Richie just laughs.

“Do you even have anything to eat in that stupid little bag?” Eddie asks him. 

“I’m only out here for a night. I don’t need that much. I take it you’re stocked up with enough MREs for a battalion?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Eddie retorts.

“I mean, it sounded like you were going to offer me an inventory.” Richie shrugs. “Like you were planning to feed me. The caretaker in you.”

“I’m not wasting my highly specialized, advanced, and expensive camping food on you,” Eddie informs him.

“Just as well, I don’t think you could match my highly specialized diet,” Richie says, and Eddie laughs.

“Yeah, Rich, I don’t have any Ring Dings or Ho Hos, so I guess you’re right.”

Richie’s barely finished saying “No Ho Hos without your mom here” before Eddie’s huffing out “Shut up, Rich.” But he’s laughing. 

“I’m on a raw diet,” Richie says. 

“What, like a dog?” Eddie asks, half-joking. There’s starting to be a spectacular pink and peach sunset in the west, and with the darkening silhouettes of the trees against the sky, it’s beautiful. He’s pretty content being right here, right now, all things considered, even if the sheer size of Richie next to him is distracting.

“Kind of,” is all Richie says. 

“I’m getting hungry,” Eddie says. “I’ve got hot dogs, if you want those—”

“Hot dogs! With all those nitrates? I’m shocked, Eds.”

“That’s not my name, and these are pretty good ones, so if you want any, help me build a fire when we get to the site.”

He stops to check his map, while Richie pauses next to him, seemingly looking up at the darkening sky. Something about him seems nervous—maybe he’s afraid of the dark. But then, why would he be out here with night approaching if he was? All things considered, Richie has always been practical. Plus, it’s always been Eddie who’s been afraid of the dark. Which is why he, once checking the map again although he’s always had a good sense of direction, hustles onward so he can get a fire going. 

It turns out Richie is pretty helpful when it comes to setting up camp, especially when it comes to building a fire, like he does this all the time. Sure, they’d go out camping when they were kids, but something makes it seem like Richie does this a lot. And it’s kind of a turn on, but Eddie keeps that to himself. Just because Richie’s seemingly flirting with him now doesn’t mean it’s anything more than Richie just joking around like he usually does. Eddie’s been dating men, but even though he definitely prefers sex with them to sex with women, he’s been too nervous, too in his head, to really relax and truly enjoy it. That said, he thinks he knows, at this point, when someone’s really flirting with him or if they’re just like that by nature, and Richie’s just like that by nature. It’s just that now, Eddie can admit, at least to himself, that Richie's also wildly attractive. 

Finally, it’s time to sit and let things cook. Richie is actually seemingly pretty restless now, looking up at the sky frequently; it’s odd, considering that it’s time to relax. “Rich? You okay?”

“Hm?” Richie seems startled and then tense, like he’s been caught at something.

“You can stay here as long as you like.” Eddie gestures to the side of the clearing that’s opposite his tent on the site. “You can set up there. If you want,” he adds. Richie seems eager to get out of here and get going, and considering they haven’t seen each other in almost thirty years, going that entire time with Richie never writing to him, he’s kind of hurt, if he’s honest.

Richie leans forward to check out how the hot dogs are doing and how well the buns are starting to toast. Then he looks at the sky again, and bites his lip. “I’m fine.”

“Really, Rich. It’s okay.”

Richie sighs, quiet, and laces his fingers together, pressing his hands to his mouth. Suddenly he stands, and as Eddie moves to get the toasted buns and the now-roasted hot dogs, and assemble everything, he’s aware of Richie walking out to the perimeter of where their firelight reaches, and pacing out there, then coming back to check Eddie’s progress, then pacing back out again. He’s walking in a circle around the edge of the firelight’s reach, Eddie realizes. 

“Rich, come here and eat,” Eddie says, just as a howling starts up, not close to them but still loud enough to feel like it’s drowning him out.

Richie freezes where he is. Eddie realizes he’s holding his breath too. The howling is distant—but just how distant?—and otherworldly. It’s more than one wolf (are there even wolves in New England…?) and Eddie’s suddenly very aware, once more, of being out in the woods. 

So to speak.

Richie’s standing still even as Eddie gets up and quietly brings him a hot dog. He’s taking those big, deep sniffs again, and he startles when Eddie appears at his elbow. Is Richie afraid of wolves, then? They’re fearsome animals and it’s healthy to have a reasonable fear of them, but why would Richie be out here at night if he was that scared? 

“Here,” Eddie murmurs. “There’s more if you want it. We’ll keep the fire going, that’ll probably keep them away.” Richie gives a short laugh, takes the hot dog, and practically devours it like some kind of animal. Naturally, his table manners haven’t improved with time. He returns to sit close by the fire with Eddie and eat two more. Eddie finds that all the day’s walking has definitely made him hungry and that this amount of food is deeply satisfying on a primal level. He almost wants to doze off, but Richie’s up and pacing again, and Eddie decides he needs to go off and pee before he settles down for sleep and maybe sees Richie off for whatever the hell he’s planning to do. It would be stupid to split up, anyway, so he starts practicing what his argument will be once he’s excused himself to go behind a tree. He can hear the wolves howling again; hard to tell whether they’re nearer or further away. Eddie usually has a great sense of direction that includes using information like sound, but maybe something about wolf howls makes them difficult to pinpoint. That would make sense, he supposes.

When he gets back to the camp, Richie is gone.

“Rich!” he calls, trying not to be too loud. He walks over to his tent to see if Richie’s in there, hiding like he’s going to pull some dumb prank. “Richie. Come out, where are you.”

No Richie in the tent.

Outside of the circle of firelight, it’s difficult to see much, although his eyes are trying to adjust. There is, he’s realizing, an eerie pale glow that’s starting to make itself known; looking up, he sees not only the spattering of stars in the Milky Way but a rising, big full moon.

 _I see a bad moon a-rising. I see trouble on the way_. Eddie realizes that’s the tune he’d heard Richie whistling. 

_Don’t go around tonight. Well it’s bound to take your life—_

“Shut up,” he mutters aloud to himself. “Richie!” he calls louder. “Where are you?” He’s willing, at this point, to risk something else hearing him. Maybe Richie’s hurt somewhere, passed out— “Richie!”

There’s something glinting on the ground on the other side of the clearing; Eddie hurries over to it. The moonlight is reflecting bright white on Richie’s glasses. Eddie picks them up. “Richie!” he calls out, panic starting to overtake him, and then he hears a rustling. Something large is coming out from the undergrowth, a dark shape Eddie can’t quite make out. 

It’s growling.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispers. Backing toward the fire, seeking its safety like a primitive man, he holds out his hands. Like a warning, like a surrender—whatever it takes.

The shape unfurls like it’s standing up, and Eddie’s brain pieces together the facts and comes to the realization that some sort of creature is walking toward him. It’s not a bear, like he’d been thinking—it’s standing on two legs, but somehow he knows it's not a bear. It growls as it breathes, a wet sound like its jaws are dripping, and Eddie is reminded of the word _slavering_.

Did this thing… _eat_ Richie?

“Richie!” he calls, shakily, and as the creature… animal… monster steps toward him as he backs toward the fire, Eddie can see its head in the firelight and the moonlight, and its eyes look… strangely human.

They're _Richie’s_ eyes.

“Rich?” Eddie breathes, disbelieving. 

The creature whimpers like a dog, dropping to all fours again, wagging a long, hairy tail but keeping it low to the ground like it’s ashamed, whining as it walks toward him, trying to butt his hand with its enormous head. 

“Richie?” Eddie asks again, feeling like an idiot. The whining increases in volume and pitch, the animal—Richie—knocking into him, like an overlarge, overeager dog. Obviously it’s Richie—why the hell else would a huge wolf-dog-thing be acting like this with him? Somehow, some way, this is Richie. “Is this why you kept wanting to leave? Is this how you could smell who I was?”

Richie barks, short and high. Maybe he can understand him; maybe that was a yes. He’s still butting up against Eddie, practically knocking him over. His fur is thick and soft. “Richie. Sit,” he tries, and Richie sits. “Lie down,” he says, and Richie stretches out, then rolls onto his back, showing his belly. Eddie, never a dog person, nonetheless laughs and crouches down to rub him there. Richie’s hind leg kicks as he does. “You’re much sweeter as a dog,” Eddie comments. Richie whines, covering his face with his front paws for a moment, wildly wagging his tail. 

But Eddie can see now—Richie’s not just a dog. Wolves are big, but he’s bigger, broader, lankier, his limbs are knobbier. His head is that of a dog’s, but with a longer muzzle, longer teeth. The eyes, despite being set like a dog’s, are somehow still Richie’s, not yellow like a wolf’s. His fur is a chocolatey brown, not gray or even black.

There’s a chill in the air now, Eddie realizes. Richie stays stretched out as he watches Eddie damp out the fire a little; it’s still going, just not as strongly. Eddie feels like he’s being guarded as he puts away the food, ties up the package, and hangs it in the trees. If Richie’s a wolf all night, he doubts any bears will come by, but still—it’s what’s done. 

Wolf-Richie follows him as he goes to set his glasses off to the side in his tent. Wolf-Richie is also watchful as Eddie takes off his boots, and his pants. In his socks, boxer-briefs, shirt, and hoodie, Eddie sits down, and pats the ground in front of the tent. 

Wolf-Richie gets up with surprising speed and trots over to him, to lie down in front of the tent, partly on Eddie’s legs. Eddie laughs softly and pats him, marveling at how big he is, how thick his fur is. Richie whines softly. “I missed you, Rich,” Eddie tells him, and Richie whines again, louder, turning his big head to lick Eddie’s hand. “Ew. Why didn’t you write to me?” he says, half to himself. “I missed you so much.” Richie’s wiggling like he’s trying desperately to express how sorry he is, and Eddie starts to feel bad. “Look, just stay out here and I’ll catch some sleep,” Eddie tells him. Richie stretches out, quieting. “Good boy,” Eddie tells him, sincere, and he can hear Richie lick his chops noisily before falling silent.

Eddie’s exhausted enough that he falls asleep almost immediately, despite the day’s events including not only seeing his childhood best friend for the first time in twenty-seven years but also seeing him as a… werewolf. He just can’t process all that just yet.

His sleep is so deep that when he wakes suddenly, still in the dark except for the bright moonlight, he’s very confused. 

He hears the howling again—a number of wolves, like before, and closer now. Closer to him, he hears Richie growling, low and resonant. Eddie wonders, now, if those even are wolves, or if they’re like Richie. Before he can ask (although he’s not sure how he’d interpret the answer), Richie gets up suddenly and trots briskly out toward the fire. In the shadows, combined with the moonlight and faint glow from the fire, Eddie can see that he’s pacing around their site. Then he hears Richie growling; something or somethings else growling; a sharp, loud series of barks; a scuffle; _vicious_ barks; and a flurry of whines and yips that seems to carry off into the distance. 

Eddie doesn’t feel like going back to sleep even when Richie, seemingly triumphant, trots back panting to the opening of the tent, shaking himself off. Eddie pets him and sits looking out at the dim fire, listening keenly to the sounds of the night, on alert. He knows he made the right choice to not have tried to sleep again when there’s more howling some time later, and Richie growls, fur standing up on his back, and lopes back out into the site. 

More growling, so low and deep it rumbles through Eddie. Sharp, vicious barks, followed again by whines; it all goes on longer this round, but when Richie comes back this time, although he’s panting harder, there’s something different about him. Although his tail is wagging hard and fast enough to slap the sides of the tent, instead of lying down again for pets he hustles Eddie back into the tent. Although Eddie can’t hear or smell any other wolves just outside, he figures Richie knows what he’s doing, and lets himself be crowded in, moved from a sitting position to on all fours, trying to accommodate Richie’s bulk in the rather small tent, getting jostled. 

Richie’s huge paw hooks its claws into his boxer-briefs as Eddie maneuvers around, trying to figure out how to make room for him; snuffling, Richie’s suddenly over him, big and warm and bulky, boxing him in. “Richie, hey,” Eddie says, in mild warning; instead of the whine he expects, there’s a growl, and Richie’s claws tug at his underwear. Richie’s teeth hook into the fabric and pull it down to his thighs before surrounding him again with his huge frame.

With a shock Eddie realizes it’s deliberate, that Richie’s got him on his hands and knees with his underwear down, that below his shirt and hoodie he can feel Richie’s belly fur on his bare back and ass and thighs, and his—

“Fuck, Richie,” Eddie breathes. Richie’s dick, his _erect wolf dick_ , is nudging his ass cheek.

Eddie takes a deep breath, fighting down panic, and _thinks_. Okay. He can’t fight Richie off, much less with his underwear around his thighs, and he can’t run off without his pants and boots and his other shit. Besides which, those other wolves—or werewolves—are still out there somewhere, and he can’t fight them off either. He’s going to need to… either talk Richie out of this, or let Richie… have his way with him. 

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s going to be successful talking Richie out of this. Moreover, he’s not sure he wants to try.

All right. Fine.

He closes his eyes for a moment. “Richie,” he says, although Richie, restlessly almost dancing over him and panting and growl-whining low in his throat, like he doesn’t want Eddie to make him wait any longer than he already has, doesn’t really seem to be listening, “okay. Okay.” He takes another deep breath. “Just… be careful,” he says, lamely. He thinks that “Don’t hurt me” might be a lost cause, but fuck if that thought doesn’t make his cock start to get hard. 

Richie growl-yips, tongue slobbering over the back of Eddie’s neck between his hair and his hoodie and shirt before Richie suddenly edges back, making Eddie think for a moment that he’s changed his mind. But no, he hasn’t—Eddie next feels his tongue in big wet stripes over his ass and between his cheeks. 

“Wait, wait,” Eddie gasps, but Richie barely gives him any time or space to hurriedly get his leg out of just one hole in his underwear. He catches on quickly, however, gently nosing the tip of his muzzle behind his balls, more room now to lick him, those big slobbering noisy licks. Getting him wet. He’s smelling him, too, but he seems more interested in coating him with saliva, and Eddie’s cock really should not be as hard as it is.

Richie’s in a hurry, it seems; maybe he’s afraid those other animals will come back. Maybe he feels a need to stake a claim on Eddie, mark him. Maybe whatever skirmishes took place out there, he won. Maybe Eddie is the prize.

Eddie feels Richie’s furred thighs behind his own, his thick fur on his back, and his cockhead nudging against Eddie’s hole. Before he can steel himself, it’s pushing in. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he groans, shocked by how sudden it is, how big and thick, how immovable. Eddie knows he couldn’t stop him now if he tried. 

He drops his head for a moment and even in the low light can see the glisten of precome that thought brings to his very hard cock. 

“Fuck, Richie,” he moans, louder than he expected, as Richie presses _in in in_ , so big, so thick. 

Richie’s heft rocks him forward, straining his knees, and Eddie tries to shift back against him; Richie growls, a low rumble that reverberates through Eddie, and pushes forward again. God, he’s in him so deep. Eddie arches his back, unable to help it.

Richie’s so much bigger than he is that he seems to have to arch back a little to get at the back of Eddie’s neck, even with Eddie’s head down and his back arched, but he laves his neck above his hoodie with his tongue and then closes his jaw on his neck, like his head is turned sideways. The hold is gentle enough, and unnecessary, because Eddie can’t get away, but he realizes Richie is holding him in place, and now Richie growls softly and starts jackrabbit thrusting into him, with his fast, powerful hips. Eddie groans, unable to do anything but just take it, his cock bouncing against his stomach, making his abdomen sticky with precome. 

Richie’s low, rumbling growl has a possessive feel to it, like the way he crowds over Eddie, and like the feel of Richie’s teeth on his neck. The growl, however, gives way to a whine low in Richie’s chest, a strange whine that accompanies the way he seems to get thicker inside Eddie, stretching him even further. Even the biggest men Eddie’s been with don’t come close to this. It’s the sweet side of hurt.

And then there’s a strangled whimper that’s almost a howl as Richie fucks him faster and faster and then stops, deep, _deep_ in him and— Eddie feels the warm wetness as Richie comes copiously deep inside him. 

His cock pulses and he nearly comes himself, but before he can even contemplate gathering his wits, Richie is thickening yet more inside him, whimpering in some amount of desperation, his cock so thick now as to definitely be uncomfortable. He starts rocking his hips again, little motions, and Eddie realizes Richie’s locked inside him at the same time that he remembers how dogs mate. 

"Oh, f-f-fuck,” he says, and then he has to get a hand around himself, and he comes harder than he ever has in his life, tightening around Richie’s cock and making him growl and pant, wild with possessiveness and what seems like triumph, saliva dripping all over Eddie’s neck. Eddie has to admit, mind swimming with the intense pleasure and body filled with werewolf semen, that he does feel very much claimed. 

He’s so dazed it takes him a while to realize that the fur rubbing his back is getting shorter, softer, and is eventually gone except for a brushy feel of soft hair; that the shaky breathing above him is thinner, more human; that there aren’t forelegs around him but arms, that Richie is sitting back on his heels and pulling Eddie back with him, human arms around him. He’s gasping against Eddie’s neck, and Eddie can feel him blinking, lashes brushing his ear; the lashes are wet. Richie’s cock is reducing in size, and Eddie almost wants to ask him to stop and keep it the way it was, stretching him, filling him so good and so deep, too thick in him; however, once he seems to be back to ‘normal,’ it’s still a pretty good-sized dick, and Eddie can’t help rolling his hips just to feel it, even though he’s softening. 

Richie groans softly; now that he’s no longer so thick, his hands go to Eddie’s hips to try and pull him off, but Eddie leans back, takes his hands. “Rich, stop,” he rasps, and Richie freezes. “It’s fine,” Eddie adds hastily.

Richie gasps wetly. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Eds. I hurt you,” he says, voice rough. “I wanted to get out of here before it started, but I didn’t want to leave you here alone and unprotected with all of them around.” 

“You didn’t hurt me,” Eddie murmurs, tilting his head back, turning his head to try and see Richie’s face. It’s kind of a lie, but a reasonable one—as hot as Eddie thought that was, Richie probably doesn’t need to hear right now that he hurt Eddie because Eddie wasn’t able to stop him. He kisses his jaw. “I wanted it, I liked it.”

“But you—”

“But nothing, Rich.” 

With a soft sound, Richie shifts for a better angle and to kiss him; it’s awkward, clumsy, but Eddie doesn’t want to shift completely off his cock just yet. Despite the awkwardness and clumsiness, it’s the hottest kiss Eddie can remember, and he stops it only to turn and straddle Richie instead, groaning softly when Richie’s pulling out causes his come to drip out of him. He winces at how tender and sore he is, moaning against Richie’s mouth, and Richie makes a soft sound into the kiss, which is leisurely and exploratory in the haze of post-orgasm.

Finally, he has to catch his breath, and he shifts back to blink at Richie. Richie’s naked—Eddie wonders where his clothes are—and Eddie looks him over in the moonlight. He’s broad, he’s hairy—albeit not so much now—and wide, and he’s exactly what Eddie wants. What he's always wanted. 

He runs his hands up and down Richie’s chest. “Jesus fuck, Rich— You’re so— When we were kids you were this hairless beanpole and now—”

Richie flushes. “—And now I’m a big furry monster, I get it.” 

“No, no, don’t put words in my mouth.” Eddie cups his jaw. “You’re gorgeous, Rich. I liked you when we were kids, I thought you were hot when I saw you this afternoon, and just now, I— You know I wasn’t scared of you because it was you. If I really didn’t want that, I would have made it clear.”

Richie looks kind of doubtful, so Eddie kisses him until Richie’s arms are around him again, holding him tight. They could go for another round, if Eddie doesn’t stop, and as much as he wants to, he thinks there’s been enough excitement for tonight. And enough going in his asshole, at least for now. Breaking the kiss, he wraps his arms tight around Richie. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, and Richie grunts. “We have to get dressed, you’ll start getting cold soon and we should try and get some sleep. I don’t know what you did with your clothes, go find them. Here," he says, and reaches for Richie's glasses, handing them to him.

Richie laughs softly, sounding tired and fond; he puts on his glasses and starts to get up with a groan. “Okay, Little Red Riding Hoodie.” He’s still so big he has to stoop and can’t stand fully until he’s outside, naked in the pale moonlight, and beautiful, presumably looking for where he’d stashed his clothes earlier in his panic.

Eddie gets his leg in the other leghole of his underwear to put it on properly, and snorts, moving to sit up so he can see Richie well. “Yeah, Mister ‘I Was a Middle-Aged Werewolf.’” He watches Richie put his underwear back on, and then come back to get inside the tent, carrying his other clothes. “Hurry up, get back in here,” he says, beckoning as he lies down, happy to have Richie wrap him up and press behind him. “Put on your shirt first, you’ll get cold,” he tells him.

“No I won’t,” Richie protests. “Trust me, I’m like a furnace. You’ll be shedding that damn hoodie in no time.”

“Whatever, Big Bad Wolf.” Eddie pulls Richie’s arm over him and honest to God snuggles back against him. He _is_ pretty warm. Eddie starts to drift off.

“I did write you,” Richie says suddenly, so uncharacteristically quiet at first that Eddie almost thinks he doesn’t hear him. 

“Hm?”

“I did write you,” Richie repeats. “Did you not get my letters?”

“Nope,” Eddie replies, frowning. Suddenly he realizes what must have happened. “My mother,” he says slowly. “My mother intercepted all you guys’ letters.”

“Shit,” Richie says, “just like in _The Notebook_.”

“Shit,” Eddie agrees, laughing. “Fuck, please tell me that doesn’t mean I’m Allie. She was such a psycho.”

“Who else would you be?” Richie murmurs into his neck. “Noah was a psycho too, they deserved each other.”

Eddie sighs, resigned. “I missed you,” he adds, after a few beats. 

“Yeah, you told me. Twice,” Richie responds, soft. He presses a kiss to Eddie’s neck, just under his hairline. “By the way, you said I was sweeter as a dog.”

“Yeah? You saying you’re not?”

“We’re not dogs,” Richie says. “Wolves are ancestors of dogs.” 

“So? You knew what I meant.” 

“Yeah but you were wrong.”

“You’re a wolf?”

“Ah’m a wolf,” Richie replies in his Nic Cage Voice, and then adds in his own, “Nah, technically I’m… a werewolf.” Eddie can feel him shrug, and he turns in Richie’s arms. 

“Snap out of it,” he whispers, smiling, and kisses him.

“Can’t,” Richie whispers. “Like me anyway?” he says, hesitant, and Eddie chuckles, soft. 

“Yeah, okay,” he murmurs, and kisses him again. They get a little lost in it, and Eddie reminds himself that they need sleep. There’s a lot he wants to ask Richie, but he feels like talking about the sex should wait until getting them worked up again over it is a (slightly) saner idea. “How did this happen?” he can’t help asking instead. 

Richie sighs. “I mean, I don’t really want to talk about it right now,” he starts and Eddie nods with a hum of understanding, “but… it turns out the Bowerses are all werewolves.” His tone when he finishes is bitter, weary. Eddie presses a kiss to his mouth.

“Okay, we won’t talk about it now if you don’t want,” he agrees. “They better hope I don’t see any of them anytime soon, though. Why’d you shift back?” he asks. “The moon’s still out, right?” 

Richie shakes his head. “Moonset. It was actually up for most of the day, you just couldn’t see it in the sun. I could tell it was coming, so I came out here. Soon as it started to get dark, I could really feel it. So I changed. Then, yada yada yada… moonset.”

“You can’t yada yada yada the best part—”

“‘No, I mentioned the bisque,’” Richie finishes, delighted, and Eddie bites the very tip of his nose. Richie’s eyes go wide, and Eddie thinks he can see him blush in the low light.

“Is it only during a full moon?”

Richie nods.

“Do you really eat a raw diet?” Eddie asks. 

“When I’m like that? Yeah. I was going to go out hunting tonight, but… I got something much better than some rabbits. Kosher hot dogs.”

Eddie scoffs, grinning, and Richie laughs softly. “You ever get out to Chicago?” he asks, and swallows.

“I could get out to Chicago. You ever get over to New York?”

“My entertainment career could take me to New York, Eds. If you’re lucky.”

“If I’m lucky,” Eddie agrees. 

They both are, as it turns out.

**Author's Note:**

> (Content note: Richie doesn't exactly ask for consent, and Eddie can't really escape the situation, but he wants it.)
> 
> I wrote this all in a rush today; came as a total surprise, but I went with it, which is why I've posted three things since Saturday. Over the past few months I've seen several delightful takes on Werewolf!Richie, and what with it being (kinda) book canon (sorta), and with me having a longtime fascination with Little Red Riding Hood imagery, and what with Eddie having a red jacket and also a hoodie [edited because I mixed them up, doh] in _Chapter Two_ , well, I wanted to try my hand at it. Combined with an abandoned idea I had with Eddie hiking the Appalachian Trail and meeting Richie there. And sprinkled with (bad) werewolf jokes. Voila! Oh, and sorry for the title.
> 
> Edited some once I learned that there aren't even wolves in New England anymore.


End file.
